Vanilla Twilight
by Pieequals36
Summary: Samantha Puckett is a difficult girl to fall for. Sam/Freddie.
1. Attraction

_Title: _Vanilla Twilight

_Overview: _Sam is not the easiest girl to fall for.

_Rating_: T for now. Subject to change.

_A/N: _There's seven chapters to this one, all written already so this should be all posted by the end of this week/early next. I was considering posting it all together, but I want to heavily edit future chapters. I know I've been on hiatus for a while, stupid life and exams getting the way, but I've had some time so I wrote this. Reviews are love :) This seems a lil OCC to me but believe it or not the whole process of the Sam/Freddie development in this one is pretty slow. I just sort of enter at a point where Freddie is just about to realise he's likes Sam. Oh this is also set when they're about 17. Allows me to be a little more grown up with the characters.

_i. And the garden snake was charmin'/and Eve said let's give it a try/Lord lead us not into temptation/well Eve is the apple of my eye_

His mother would not approve. No, she certainly would not. In fact he's pretty sure she would attempt some sort of cleansing ritual if she ever found out. He can't really blame her though; he was very nearly about to attempt something similar when _he_ found out. It happened very suddenly, in the middle of a very ordinary day, under very ordinary circumstances. He remembers evaluating her from across the table in the school yard, roughly biting into a bright green apple and thinking how very un-ordinary Samantha Puckett was. Her hot pink Blondie t-shirt clashed garishly with her red plaited mini skirt, her legs wrapped in cherry decorated leggings. A rainbow hair band highlighted her slightly frazzled curly blonde hair (she had mentioned something about a bush and falling earlier), and a delicate set of black frames sat perched on the end of her button nose. He blames those glasses. Those new additions to her features making her seem that little bit more mysterious and, dare he say it, smart. He could tell she hated them. She itched her nose repeatedly, daring to remove them once in front of Carly who reprimanded her with a sharp slap to the back of the head. She ducked low rubbing the spot her friend had hit.

In doing so she caught his gaze and her lips curled into a snarl.

"What you looking at Benson? You think I won't share the pain?"

He had gotten very good at shaking her off. He thought that sometimes she believed he was too pitiful to mock or beat up, so he mumbled something about his lunch tasting funny and pushed it determinedly around his plate. He knew that if he dared to look back he would've met a narrowed set of blue eyes, and could almost feel her pointed stare. He counted to ten, and sure enough when he looked back up she had forgotten about him, instead now picking on the skin of her apple.

It was not that he did not wonder what his fascination with the blonde haired demon was; it was that back then he tended not to dwell on it. Half of him was afraid he'd uncover some sort of odd S&M fetish lurking deep within, the other half afraid he'd unearth a perfectly normal, teenage attraction.

He still isn't exactly sure which one scared him the most.

His eyes traced down the bridge of her nose, to her full red lips curled around the core of the apple. He often wondered why his teenage hormones dictated that he must focus on them as often as he did, and often thinking of them in a variety of different situations, doing a wide array of colourful things. Glancing around at the male population of Roosevelt High, he realised he was not the only one to dutifully note the desirability of such a female feature. He also strongly suspected that he was also not the only boy to notice the desirability of this feature particularly on Samantha Puckett. Yes it was no secret that Sam, despite her vicious temper and glaringly bad manners, had a large and diverse following of admirers, all willing to overlook her little idiosyncrasies in an attempt to find the delicate flower within. However Fredward Benson was probably the only boy to realise that such a flower did not exist. At least not in Sam Puckett. She bit down on the apple hard, her teeth sinking into the firm fruit as she pulled it from its core. Freddie winced subconsciously, shifting in his seat. The sharp and sudden movement did not go unnoticed by his two female friends sitting across the table, both watching him curiously.

"What? Seriously? Do I have like spit on my chin or something?" Sam asked, gesturing towards the gaping boy in front of her, "What's the nub staring at?"

Freddie did find it mildly insulting that she chose not to address him directly, it sort of added to the distinct lack of respect she showed him. But he also realised that he had indeed been staring unabashedly at his frienemy for quite some time that lunch. Her confusion was perhaps a little justified. Carly smiled and shrugged, glancing back towards Freddie.

"Oi Fredlumps," Sam shouted, throwing the remainder of her apple at his forehead. It hit with a resounding clap and slid down onto his lap. He simply stared at the core, his body struggling to catch up with his head. As a result, his delayed reaction provoked a nervous chuckle from Sam, who gazed at him, disbelieving.

"Ouch."

"Freddie, are you ok?" Carly giggled nervously, jumping out of her seat and making her way to his side. He felt flustered by her attention, as she pressed the palm of her soft hand to his forehead and pushed back his hair. "My God, you're like burning up."

He batted her hand away, shaking his head and rubbing his hands over his face. "I'm fine, I just spaced out."

"Wow, it's finally time to call in the men in the white coats huh Frednerd?" Sam gave him a lopsided grin, extending her long legs onto the table top. He groaned inwardly as her skirt rose ever so slightly up her hips, her eyes a hazy blue as she watched him with a relentless determination. He knew in that moment, if Sam gave any inclination that she may indeed not gag at his touch, he would take her then and there. He imagined doing all sorts of not so gentlemanly things; ravishing her, touching her. He could almost hear her moans, her cries as he touched her over and over, scratching her long cat like nails down his back, doing the wild things in bed only Samantha Puckett would do. Because God knows, Sam was wild.

He leapt to his feet, nearly knocking his tray to the floor and making Carly jump back in fright. He could feel his neck burning red, all the way to his ears. Sam may have furrowed her brow but her grin widened, chuckling at Freddie's absurd behaviour.

"Dude, who replaced your cereal with crazy flakes this morning?"

"I...I got to go," he stammered, gathering his backpack and escaping inside. He kept running until he found the boys bathroom, specifically the cold water tap, and splashing some on his face.

He knew he was starting to become obsessive.

With Sam Puckett. Sam Puckett and her striking beauty, coupled with a fierce temper he would never see the likes of again.

Freddie had become conditioned by his mother to believe that any thought of an impure nature was simply wrong. He cannot think of touching her, he was not allowed to, yet it was all he thought of. It was new territory, something he was unfamiliar with. A compulsion that outweighed sense.

This territory was dangerous, irrational.

And, he resolved, had to stop.

* * *

**_So do we like? Should I post the rest? Should I abandon my studies and go in search of tap dancing legend and all round hottie Adam Garcia?.....Wait. That was a question for my therpist. Never mind :P _**

**_Push the button, make me smile. _**


	2. Battles

_**A/N: Second chapter, up and ready to go. Typo's and all - lolz. I know this one may seem like I'm rushing things but I swear I'm not. Although I had to really edit this chapter cos it was like 4000 words before I cut it in half. Also can I just say the people that review my stuff are like the nicest people in the world! I'm so lucky I have people like you even bothering to review. Most of my stuff doesn't deserve readers lol It's so nice to log in to my email and see that people are enjoying this. Makes me smile cos I enjoy writing it. Anyway, I'm gonna stop gushing over how great you guys are. Enjoy :) Let me know if I can improve on anything. **_

_ii. Hands down/I'm too proud for love/but with eyes shut/it's you I'm thinking of/but how we move from A to B/it can't be up to me/cause you don't know/eye to eye/thigh to thigh/I let go//I think I'm a little bit/little bit/a little bit in love with you//but only if you're a little bit/little bit/little bit in love with me. _

Freddie's resolve reached quite the unexpected conclusion by the weekend. Much to his own surprise he decided that in order to combat such an internal war of hormones, he must ask Samantha Puckett on date.

That's right. He was going to ask her out.

On a proper, go-see-a-film-hold-hands-while-walking date.

The thought still made him a little queasy. It was quite hard to decipher whether such a feeling was as a result of the anticipation of the actual task of asking Sam to accompany him on a date, or the part where he would have to be nice to her on the damn thing. He was still fully aware that he was planning to ask out a girl who had relentlessly tortured him both physically and emotionally throughout high school. He was also aware that she was Carly's friend, Carly's best friend. And Freddie could not shake the feeling that things had changed between him and Carly. Of late, her touches lingered, she found more and more excuses to hug him. And this was not unwanted attention; hell it was what Freddie Benson had craved since he had met the girl in Kindergarten. But he knew that if didn't get Sam out of his system that he could never devote himself entirely to the original plan.

The original plan being that he would eventually ask Carly out, she would say yes, then they would live happily ever after and have many Benson babies.

And that certainly was not going to happen as long as he thought of Sam the way he did. He pretty much figured that even if she agreed to date him it would end in disaster. Probably with him missing a limb or two. But it was a price he was willing to pay.

He inhaled deeply, ripping a red piece of liquorice from the strand with his teeth. He knew Sam had to turn up at Carly's eventually; she'd soon run out of money down at the arcade and he realised that right about now, that ravenous hunger of hers would have set in. It was only a matter of waiting. He absently recalled a song about waiting being the hardest part, and he chuckled making a note to download it off IFruit later.

"Yo yo yo peeps!"

_Right on cue. _

"Hey Sam," he replied, unconsciously straightening against the kitchen worktop.

"Oh it's you, Nerdface," she gave an over-emphatic sigh and eye roll as she made her way to the kitchen. He barely reacted as she swiped the liquorice from his hand and continued to make her way to the fridge. "Where's Carls?"

"Her and Wendy went to the mall. I thought you might have gone too but she said you hadn't."

"Well observed Freak," a voice came from inside the refrigerator, "So you thought you'd hang around her apartment like a creeper?"

His jaw clenched and he could feel his blood pulsating. She really knew what buttons to press. "Actually," he corrected, "I was waiting..."

He turned watching her wiggle inside the fridge, her feet dangling off the floor. "....Waiting for the opportunity to lock you in a fridge. Sam what are you doing?"

"Trying to find Spencer's ribs, he hides them now," she grunted, kicking her legs out. "Pull me out Benson."

He crossed his arm, smirking at the sight of her stuck in the Shay's refrigerator. _Only Sam. _"What's it worth Puckett?"

"Me not telling your mother you got me pregnant in the back of your Sedan and I plan to name the baby Princess Banana Hammock. Be it a boy or a girl."

"You wouldn't," he dared. Still, he decided to move a little bit closer to the fridge. He did not want to have to deal with his mother fainting and then forcing him to take her blood pressure for the rest of the day, while alternately trying to call doctors to find some sort of temporary sterilisation process.

"Just try me Fredwardo. I could even give her some interesting details. You like threesomes with Gibby right?"

"Hold on," he muttered, grabbing her by the ankles. It didn't take much force to pull her free, and Freddie strongly suspected she was just too lazy to wiggle out on her own, but as she emerged a bowl of tuna, whipped cream and a carton of chocolate milk came with her, exploding over the kitchen tiles. "Sam," he said, exasperated. She stood up from the mess, wiping her black three-quarter denims futilely before shrugging.

"You clean it up, I'm tired," she stated, pushing past him and flopping down on the sofa. He wasn't about to argue, he realised it would be pointless. Besides, he was quite used to cleaning up Samantha's Puckett's mess. He disappeared under the sink and returned with a yellow bucket and some cleaning supplies. A silence settled in the apartment as he began to mop up the food remnants, quietly angry. Angry enough to reconsider if he would even bother asking her out. After all, he's lived with it all this time, he was pretty sure that it was a normal teenage boy thing. She was attractive, he would be sort of odd if he didn't realise that. Perhaps he just paid special attention to the attraction because it was so unexpected. Who would anticipate fancying their worst nightmare?

"Dude," he heard a dry laugh from the sofa, "You do realise you're like my bitch right?"

"Whatever," he mumbled, visibly tensing. She eyed him from the couch, crawling onto her front so she lay facing him.

"Why do you do it?"

"Do what?" he asked after a beat.

"Do what I tell you? Is it 'cause you're afraid of me?"

"No, I just know that if I leave this mess you wouldn't clean it, and then Carly would have to come home to it."

"So, just let me get in trouble." He looked back over his shoulder, still crouched over the spilt liquid. Her brow had knit, her chin resting on the arm of the chair.

"I don't care about you getting in trouble, I care that Carly would have to come back to find this," he informed her, holding her gaze. He was almost sure he saw her eyes flicker, hurt, but whatever this reaction was she had dismissed it, crawling back to the other end of the sofa.

"Whatever Cinderella, get back to work," she grumbled, focusing on the television.

"You'd think you would be a bit nicer to the guy cleaning up your spilt milk," Freddie spat.

"Way to point it fast and loose with the word 'guy' there Benson."

"Like I haven't heard that one before, you'd think you could at least be original with the insults now."

Sam began to babble nonsensically, making noise over Freddie's argument in a childish display that he knew he shouldn't rise to, but did anyway. Both talked at the same time, loudly and brashly. Sam jumped up her knees on the sofa gesturing wildly at the boy in the kitchen, while he managed to still keep cleaning while matching her over-animated argument. Decibels rose, Sam made faces while Freddie felt something rise inside him. He felt it come up and out his throat, and before he could stop himself he had spat it out fiercely at the infuriating blonde.

"Will-you -go-see-a-movie-with-me?"

The sentence came out as word jumble, said so fast Sam barely caught it. But caught it she had. She was stunned into silence, her chest rising and falling heavily as she reeled from their argument.

"I gotta say Nerdbrain, you're losing something with your comebacks these days."

"No Sam, it's not a comeback. I'm asking you a question."

She paused, squinting at him.

"What? Like now? I suppose but shouldn't we wait for Carly?"

He sighed, head bowed as he stood and made his way to the sofa. She knelt at the other end facing him, watching as he ran his fingers against the course fabric of the arm.

"No. I mean like this weekend or something. Just me and you. No Carly."

She blinked, uncomprehending.

"Like a date Sam."

Her reaction was pretty much as he expected, but still not as he had hoped. He was met by a snorty laugh and much pointing and ridiculing, as she fell to her front. He decided to let her get it out of her system. He waited and waited.

And waited.

Eventually her laughter subsided and she wiped a runaway tear from her cheek. "I take it back," she chuckled, "Your comebacks are pretty amazing."

Silence. He knew he had to let her process. Sam wasn't like other girls, she needed time to realise what had been said. She also needed to realise how serious his request was. He crouched down by the sofa, so he was eye level with her icy blue gaze.

"You....you're serious?" she said, punctuating her words.

"As a car crash."

She wanted to laugh in his face. To point and mock him relentlessly. But he was staring at her with those brown eyes of his. That stupid, lustful stare she had been noticing more and more since he had caught her changing in the ICarly studio a few months back. The look he had then and the one he had now were much the same, only proximity was different. Now she could feel his breath lap against her face, hear every small movement he made.

Since when had Fredward Benson, the boy she mocked and teased for most of her teenage years, got so _fucking_ hot?

"What about Carly?" she stuttered out. _Smooth Sam, real smooth. _

"What about her?"

Right about now was when she needed to claw back some of that abrasive personality of hers. But she couldn't do that as long as he was this close to her face. She jumped up straight, settling her feet to the floor.

"Eh what could it hurt? As long as you're paying then I'm in. I'm not one to turn down free food and entertainment."

"Seriously?" he asked, surprised. She shrugged, struggling to stay nonchalant, despite the intense feeling of dizziness and nausea.

"Sure Benson, just keep your hands where I can see 'em and we're all set."

_That was is problem in the first screwin' place _he thought ruefully.

"Pick you up at seven on Saturday then?"

"Yeah whatev's. And don't get all soppy about this Fredlumps. All I see is free stuff. I'd say yes to Hitler if he offered me free stuff."

He had about ten thousand comebacks, but they all stuck in his throat as she made her way out the front door, slamming it behind her. There it was. What he had dreaded for two years. He had asked Samantha Puckett out on a date and she, much to his surprise and dismay, had agreed.

He began to wonder if tackling the issue head on was such a good idea after all.

What _had _he done?

* * *

**_Hmm, it feels a little OCC to me still. I just struggle with the actual "how Sam and Freddie would get together" scenerio cos honestly, cos of their age, I don't think it would be this passionate illicit affair at the start. I think they might just date like normal people. I want the struggle of the transition between frienemys to boyf/girlf to be cute and fun and full of normal issues. I want to see how they deal with Carly and stuff. I want there to a be a little bit of denial for a while too. Cos I don't think they'd just fall into it that easily, especially Sam. Again, hmm. We'll see how this goes. And KeyLime, yes you did make me smile, you always do :) I'm loving your new fic by the way :) It was great to see chap 3 up today! I'll review soon, promise! _**


	3. Dates

_**Third chapter guys. Enjoy :)**_

_iii. Time together isn't ever quite enough/when you and I are alone/I've never felt so at home //what will it take to make or break this hint of love?/we need time/only time_

Freddie wasn't exactly surprised that the date turned out pretty much as he had expected. Sam had showed up late, refusing to apologise and blaming women's troubles (something he didn't exactly want to know about). She hadn't even made an effort, wearing a torn pair of faded denims with an oversized FDNY t-shirt, her messier than usual blonde hair tied back roughly. She had however managed to note Freddie's acceptable appearance by saying that he looked "more nubbish than usual". Freddie digressed.

Between her tardiness and the fact she took thirty minutes to order what food she had wanted from the counter, they had missed quite a sizable chunk of the film. She then proceeded to complain (very loudly) for the rest of the film that she didn't know what was going on, or making odd animal like grunts whenever anything remotely romantic happened on screen. It got so out of hand that a rather burly man threatened to do very un-gentlemanly things to the blonde if she insisted on disrupting the movie to which she threatened him with Freddie as a human shield.

Freddie then decided it best to leave the film earlier or risk, quite literally, life and limb. This prompted the blonde demon to complain the majority of the walk home (which would have actually been quite pleasant if she had just shut up for two minutes) before he dropped her in front of her house. He remembers the sharp clap of her hand against his shoulder and the coarseness of her voice as she said goodnight.

"Well Fredifer. It's been....long. Thanks."

And with that she disappeared inside, leaving Freddie standing alone. Surprisingly he wasn't annoyed, or even remotely disappointed. The date had gone quite as he had expected. In fact it pleased him a little bit that things could now return to normal; he would no longer fantasise about Samantha Puckett and could go back to idolising Carly Shay.

He woke the next morning with a contented smile, stretching out in his warm bed. He had no intentions of going anywhere. He was going to enjoy the normality of his world. The familiarity of it. Even if something did feel a little odd now.

"Good morning Wendy!"

Sam announced herself by pushing open his bedroom door with such brute force that it slammed off the back wall, probably leaving a mark that his mother would fuss over for weeks to come.

"Sam!" he exclaimed, pulling the covers up to his chin. She stood in his doorframe, wrapped up in a garishly bright yellow duffel coat, paired with red hat and scarf. The tip of her nose matched the colour of her accessories, a dark red from the cold outside.

"Come on, it's icy out there," she informed him, making her way to his window and sliding open the curtains. The harsh winter sunlight streamed through, and Freddie flinched, rubbing his eyes.

"Precisely why I was planning on staying in bed," he said with a heavy sigh, "How did you get past my Mom?"

"Oh yeah," she said, digging into the back pocket of her dark jeans, "She left a post it on the fridge door. Apparently she's gone shopping cos you were out of protein shake. Now I'm no Einstein but I'm guessing your mom doesn't need to bulk up. Trying to impress the ladies Benson?" She waggled an eyebrow, and cast a glance down his semi-naked form, hidden beneath covers.

"Clearly it's working if you didn't get enough last night," he mumbled, casting sufficient awkwardness over the atmosphere. She shuffled to the bottom of his bed, staring at the dark rod of his frame. Clearing her throat, she regained something she had lost in the past thirty seconds and started again.

"Just get up Dipthong, Carly's not in and I wanna go play."

"Fine."

She stood gazing at him, expectant.

"Any chance you can wait in the hall so I can change?"

"Like you've anything I wanna see," she retorted with perhaps the cutest eye roll Freddie Benson had ever seen. _No, don't go there again. Remember the disaster you call a date. _

He changed quickly, peering out into the cold weather that awaited him. Outside was still, with hardly any visible signs of life. It was rare for Seattle to grind to such a halt for the weather. He emerged fully dressed within fifteen minutes of her arrival. Entering the hallway, his ridiculous teenage hormones once again took over as he eyed her posed form, leaning against his hallway door. Her back was rested on the frame, one leg pushed up behind her, hands in pockets and blonde locks cascading down her shoulders. _Damn her and her Taylor Swift good looks. _Head turned; she met his gaze, giving a lop-sided grin.

"Finally, I thought I was gonna have to wait for you to put on your make up," she teased, walking ahead, out the front door. He gave an over-emphatic sigh, locking up behind them. He watched her from the corner of his eye, jabbing the buttons on the elevator impatiently. She was always in such a rush, like she could never slow down. It was like her brain never switched off.

He saddled up to her side casually, trying to hide the Goddamn excitement he felt at the thought of hanging out with her. She glanced to her side, smirking as he whistled, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He caught her looking and frowned, curious.

"What?"

"You're such a nerd." She gave a throaty laugh, jabbing the buttons once more for emphasis.

"Yeah but you love it," he blurted, kind of regretting it almost immediately. She would probably take it wrong. She'd think he was coming onto her or something. _Well, aren't you? _

Instead he heard another laugh, and he turned just in time to catch a blush rise on her usually pale cheeks. And Freddie was darn sure that it wasn't from the cold.

* * *

Four hours into the now ending morning and Sam felt her stomach rumble, a not so pleasant hunger beginning to set in. They had found a particularly long stretch of ice in the park and had decided to see who could pull the most outrageous stunts while skidding to the end of the patch. So far she had suffered two scrapped knees, a sizable gash on the palm of her hand and a thrumming pain in her wrist for her troubles. Not that she minded, Sam was used to the rough and tumble style of play she had grown accustomed too in her 17 short years.

Freddie faired up quite well, much to her surprise. He was quite enthusiastic about what his mother would deem death defying play, and seemed to relish in the task set to him. He appeared to be enjoying himself. And although Sam would not like to admit it, she was too. Freddie was a rare one from the male species that did not piss her off to the point she wanted to scratch her own ears off. Though she would never admit that to him. She had stopped briefly, to catch her breath and examine her wounds on a bench but he enthusiastically kept going, realising the sillier the poses the more he got her to laugh. She sat, crossed legged, nursing her palm in her lap watching him slide up and down.

"C'mon Puckett, don't tell me you're bailing already? Light weight," he teased breathily, stopping on the ice to look at her.

"No, just needed a break," she said, wincing. He frowned.

"Your hand is hurting?"

"No shit Sherlock."

Tentatively he made his way across the slippery surface and took up position beside her.

"Let's see it then," he instructed, taking her hand in his. She let out some sort of protest, a noise muffled by a sharp hiss as he opened her palm. His fingers danced around the gash, and she smiled when he leaned down to get a better look. _Nurse Benson. _

"We should probably get my Mom to have a look at it."

She barely heard him, lost in the sensation of his fingertips on her skin, a warmth creeping up the back of her neck. It took her a moment, but finally the reality of what he suggested dawned on her and she pulled back, disconcerted. "No way. I'd rather lose the hand then have your weirdo of a mother fuss over it and call me a 'careless daredevil'".

She thought he'd be offended, call her names and say that yes, she was indeed careless. Instead he laughed, a dry sound that reverberated in the cold air, coming out as mist and noise.

"What?" she asked, lifting her brow.

"You're an odd one Puckett."

"That's an insult?"

"An intriguing odd one."

Beaming from ear to ear, eyes glittered. "That's a compliment!"

Another laugh and he got up from the bench, walking down the path towards a hotdog stand he had noted on the way in. She was bound to be hungry by now.

"I'm right aren't I? It's a compliment."

"C'mon Evil Knievel."

She grinned again, skipping up to his side and gave him a light shoulder bump. Silence settled, but a comfortable one. One of those quiet periods where no one feels the need to speak, because really there's nothing to say, and anything said would ruin the moment. _Whatever the moment was. _

"Hey," she said quietly. Suddenly. He kept his head low, watching their matching paces against the concrete. He always loved the bright colours of her DC's. And her odd scribbles along the soles.

"Yeah?"

"I'm having a good time."

He didn't say anything, instead matched her smile with one of his own. He fought the urge to reach out and grab her hand, the feeling of her skin grazing his with every step they took. Instead, he buried it deep into his jeans pocket, his eyes returning to their moving feet.

And he certainly didn't question it when she hooked her arm in his and stood unbearably close. Or when she lightly rested her cheek on his heavily clothed shoulder. Although he was quite certain that he would eventually need to let out the breath he was holding at some point. They stayed like that until they reached the hotdog cart, Sam brashly ordering two of the same. He automatically reached for his wallet but paused upon feeling Sam grip his forearm, gazing at him eagerly.

"What?"

"Benson," she drawled, "You pay for this, it's gonna look suspiciously like a date."

He considered something, mouth agape. "Hmm. Or it could be how it always is. Me paying for crap, you promising to get it next time."

"Or it could look like a date."

Stuck in a gridlock, they both tried to stare each other down. He knew what he would do next could have a monumental effect on their fragile little universe, so he contemplated slowly and very carefully. He felt her fingers dig into the leathery fabric of his jacket, he wasn't sure if it was a warning that physical punishment was to follow, or that she was simply nervous.

Both scenarios scared the crap out of him.

"I don't have all day," the vendor reminded them.

"Yeah, sorry," Freddie replied, handing the vendor a ten, but keeping his gaze trained on the small blonde hooked in his arm. He was rewarded with two hotdogs and his change, wrapped in rough paper, and he juggled the items expertly, handing Sam her food. After he had finished sorting his change he glanced up to see Sam staring at the hotdog in her hand like it was going to jump up and bite her.

"What? You're bound to be hungry," Freddie pointed out, taking a bite out of his own. Her fingers toyed with the end of the paper, her face twisting into a pensive stare.

"I got to go!" she exclaimed loudly. Suddenly. Before Freddie had even the slightest chance at reacting, Sam was bolting away, her limbs flailing.

"SAM!" he called, "WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

She turned her head, still running, her feet pounding off the gravel. "I just got to go home! I had a great time though!"

He stood, completely confused, watching as she bumped into a crowd of joggers and fell unceremoniously to the ground, before getting back up and running again. Albeit with a slight limp.

_Dating Samantha Puckett sure as hell was confusing._

And that's precisely when it hit him.

He was dating Sam Puckett.

* * *

**_A/N: Mmm. I dunno, I'm not sure I'm feeling it. Are you guys? I feel like I've lost my muse or something :( Speaking of what's with all this confusing over the airing of IWas A Pageant Girl. Grrr. Anyways yeah. Should I keep going? I really don't know. Thanks for all the kind reviews though. _**


	4. Sleepless

_iv. Tonight I fly away so high/my first full moon sky//I'll breathe you in/won't let you down/won't hold you back/won't make a sound/I know what scares you the most//being alone/just like them/being alive and feeling so dead//At least you have my heart_

Two months of intimate hang outs with Sam bolting like a man on fire at the end of each was enough for Freddie to realise that this behaviour was not normal. He was pretty sure that they had transformed into something more than friends, but he had no hard proof. So far she hadn't kissed him, hugged him. Hell she was even afraid to touch him. Nothing had really changed – she was still incredibly mean to him, she still flirted with every hot guy her eyes could land on, and she still teased him relentlessly about Carly. But when they were alone, which transcribed more and more of late, she was different. She was actually nice. Dare he say it, Samantha Puckett _was sweet_. She still insisted on calling him a variety of colourful names that he was sure he didn't deserve, but otherwise she was a normal person. She talked about normal stuff. Hell, she talked about _intimate_ stuff. For instance, Freddie was now fully aware that Sam's dad wasn't dead or missing, he'd simply left when she was a child. And surprisingly the guy wasn't a deadbeat (in the conventional sense) but rather held down quite a good job as a sales rep, and even remembered to call her from time to time. Before, if and when Freddie dared to imagine Sam's dad, it wasn't like this. He always envisioned some tattooed prisoner on the run with a bleach blonde from some hick state. Never once did he think her dad could be a suit and tie, living on the other side of the USA. He believed this to be where her daddy issues lay. The fact he was such a functioning member of society, relatively sane (as she pointed out on numerous occasions, how sane can someone be to sleep with her mother), but still made no real effort to stay close to his daughters. He wondered how Sam might have turned out had he stayed. Would she too have assumed such a role of normality? Then again, Sam wouldn't be Sam, and Freddie wouldn't be where he is now.

Confused, utterly so.

He planned to confront her on it, on numerous occasions. _What are we? Are we together? Why haven't you kissed me? _

Because that in itself was a huge problem. Freddie was a normal 17 year old boy. A normal 17 year old boy with raging hormones. If Sam _was_ his girlfriend the ability to touch her would be nice. Heck, he'd even like the opportunity to hug her. But there is where the confusion lay. Was she is girlfriend? Or was she simply looking for someone to hang out with? And Freddie was someone who was sitting at home thinking if he could only find a girl like Princess Leya. Was it a matter of convenience, of company? He believed this to be impossible, simply from the looks she gave him. No one can platonically look at friend the way she did him. Many of her looks were accompanied by an intense feeling of nausea at the thought she may just rip his pants off in the middle of the school hallway.

And thus lay an example. Two days previous, Freddie had been talking to her against the lockers. Perfectly innocent, waiting for Carly to emerge from cheerleading practice. The hallway got busy, as it often did between classes and Freddie switched his position from leaning side by side against the hard steel, to stopping just in front of her. He didn't realise how close he stood, the lines of acceptability often blurred between them, but he was a mere few inches from her small frame. He continued to talk, head bowed looking down at the floor. She could feel him close, his breath lapping against her chin. She had this absurd thought that if she touched his chest she would be able to feel his heart. He wanted to touch her, so much so that the urge just took over. His fingers tentatively reached out and grazed the fabric of her sleeve, before tangling themselves with hers. Both looked down at where they joined, Freddie never stopping talking. She felt safe. He towered over her – he had gained quite the height advantage. No one noticed, no one really cared. The bustle continued behind them before Freddie dared to look up. He was met with a pair of ice blue eyes gazing back at him, wide and expectant. He shifted his hand a little so their palms met flat, before sandwiching his fingers between hers.

_Perfect fit. _

He thought she was going to say something, at least it looked like she was, before Carly bounded up to them, throwing an arm around her best friends neck. The moment was gone, torn from them. He wondered what she wanted to say.

And that's what led him to Carly's bedroom door, standing outside debating whether or not to go in. He could hear the soft hum of her TV inside. It wasn't late but it was getting there. He had no one to talk to, no one understood Sam Puckett. He lacked any real guy friends – well at least any he could confide in. Truth be told, the only person he could confide in was in the room in front of him. And the one thing he couldn't talk to her about what the thing he wanted to the most. If anyone could give him any insight into the mind of Sam it was her best friend. Freddie couldn't shake the feeling though, that still, Carly wanted more from him than what he was giving her. And Freddie struggled to stay strong under the spell of that new addition cheerleader outfit. He had a girlfriend.

Or at least he thought he might.

He groaned, banging his head off the door repeatedly.

"Hello?" Carly's voice came, soft, "Spencer?"

Freddie had lost his own ability to speak. He debated running, fleeing the scene and never returning. Ultimately he found this silly. Even if he didn't tell her about Sam he could at least sit with her for a while. Find some solace and comfort in a friend. Well, providing she wasn't wearing that damn cheerleader outfit. Then things might get a little..._strained_.

"It's Freddie," he stammered, voice low.

"Oh hey Freddie, come in," she summoned. He took a breath – he wasn't sure why – and pushed open the heavy door. Carly and Sam sat propped up by pink pillows against her wooden headboard, Sam's head resting on her friends shoulder. Carly smiled and gave a small wave, but Sam kept her eyes firmly trained on the television screen.

"Hey," Carly said again.

"Hey Carly," he replied his eyes flickering between her and the blonde at her side, "Sam."

"Fredichini," she acknowledged, still refusing to look his direction.

"What you guys doing?"

"Watching girly movies," Carly informed him, "Sleepless in Seattle now."

"Although, I ain't too sleepless anymore," Sam quipped, burying further into her friend.

He laughed a little too loud and Sam raised her brow curiously. He stood at the end of the bed, awkward and still debating the running theory.

"Wanna join us?" Carly offered, gesturing to the space beside Sam.

"Um..." he scratched the back of his head, looking to Sam for confirmation. Still refusing to look at him, he let out a lengthy sigh before wordlessly accepting Carly's invite. He kicked off his Converse and peeled off his jacket, cautiously climbing in beside Sam. He stayed above the sheets, twiddling his thumbs and jerking, uncomfortable. Sam and Carly had claimed all four pillows and it seemed the girls had made a fort with the remainder of the cushions around a carefully placed set of teddy bears on the floor.

He wasn't about to ask.

Carly giggled. "You can get under the covers you know. Spencer won't tell your mom you got into bed with two girls."

"Uh...sure," he mumbled. He hadn't had this much trouble with words since he had to read the part of Romeo. For fifteen minutes he sat gawkily on the edge of the bed, stretched out on bright pink sheets, while the girls talked to each other, content. He did his best to pay attention to the movie, keeping his eyes firmly focused on the moving images. Suddenly, his hand was grasped beneath the covers and eyes wide, he casted a casual glance sideways at Sam. She kept talking to Carly, never looking to him. His first thought if of the familiarity of the feeling of her small warm hand in his. He wondered if this was a progression in their odd relationship; was hand holding now part of the deal? Apparently coming to Carly's to get answers, was instead just going to provide more questions. He clasped her hand tightly, running his thumb in circles across her palm. He heard her sigh, head still rested on Carly.

"I'm hungry," Carly announced, swinging her legs out the bed. No cheerleader costume. Instead a rather revealing pair of silk shorts and string vest. _Great. _"Anyone want anything?"

"Chips, with salsa dip. And some chocolate. And maybe some yoghurt if you have any?" Sam replied, head still against Carly's neck.

"Sure, Freddie?"

"No. Nothing thanks."

"Cool, take her," Carly grunted, pushing her friend towards the boy on the other end of the bed. Sam fell limp against his shoulder, groaning at the change in position.

"Ew. Boy cooties," she mumbled.

"Be right back," Carly told him with an eye roll, her voice quiet. It crossed his mind that perhaps she still worried that Sam secretly abused him when she wasn't looking. It made him feel all the more guilty for the lies he told her. Carly left, the door still slightly ajar. Freddie noticed how immediately Sam relaxed into him, curling up at his side, her hand still firmly planted in his. He felt her bump off his thigh and he found he had to close his eyes and think of his Grandma naked.

"I like this hoodie," she informed him, rubbing her cheek off the material. It was a dark navy pullover. Nothing special about it at all, and Freddie wondered why she would even notice it.

"You want it?" he offered. He knew offering a girl your hoodie meant something, he just wasn't sure what.

"Whatever," she murmured. Freddie dropped her hand, and she was frightened she had insulted him, a feeling she chided herself for. Instead he pulled the hoodie from over his head and instructed her to hold up. Confused, she let him pull it over her, sliding her arms in and watching as he adjusted the item of clothing. His smell overwhelmed her, and although pleasant, she felt dizzy. Her eyes fluttered closed, taking it in; the warmth, his scent and he watched her curiously. It struck him that perhaps she didn't mean she wanted it that very second, but what was done, was done.

"There."

"Thanks."

She flashed a smile, but it disappeared nervously and she resumed her earlier "head-on-shoulder" position. He wondered whether or not that was the end of the hand holding thing, but alas her hand snaked back into his and they lay there, content. Freddie was pretty sure, that although unremarkable, this was going to happen with a great deal of regularity. Perhaps not the exact same scenario but the awkwardness of new feeling, the brave new explorations of physical limits. He found himself wondering if Sam was aware of it too. He decided not to ask, namely because he heard a soft snore from his shoulder and was pretty sure he had lost her to a world of wrestling and ice-cream. He grazed his lips against the top of her head, shutting his eyes. She smelt of vanilla and barbecued ribs, an odd but exhilarating combination.

Carly always smelt like cherries.

This was his last, perhaps slightly incoherent thought, before his heavy eyelids shut. Apparently Sam was still a bad influence.

* * *

When Carly returned, she entered her room ready to explain to Sam that they didn't have any Peppy Cola left and tell Freddie she had brought him some popcorn anyway. But such a notion was banished when she saw the pair in her bed. Still propped up, both had fallen asleep. Sam (now clad in Freddie's sweatshirt) had her arm across his middle, her hand snaking its way to his chest. He rested his head on top of hers, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her to him. Something happened in Carly's stomach, a flip that induced a two step back into the hallway. It took her a moment to catch her breath but when she had she turned on her heel and walked back towards the living room. It seemed like an endless trek, made worse by how slow her limbs moved.

She emerged from the staircase, stopping at the bottom.

"What's up little sister?" Spencer asked, flicking the TV off with the remote.

"Can I get a hug?" she choked out, her voice a strained whisper.

"Course." He opened his arms and she crossed the room, falling into them. He managed to pull her onto the sofa.

She didn't cry.

And Spencer never did ask.

* * *

_**Why? Why do I have such a pull towards the angst factor? lol I have to stay you guys strongly encouraged me to keep posting for this one. No one moreso than Pigwiz. Now there is a person who's desperate ramblings could not be ignored teehee That review/mad rant just made my day. Clearly me not posting would risk Pigwiz's sanity and I will not inflict that on the world :P I joke, I joke. Also apparently I owe it to the world. And if I owe the world....lol Thanks for the encouragment. Editing this is almost as bad as writing it :S This chapter just seemed too techinical to me or something. I don't think I'll ever like anything I write. I'm a self deprecating writer. Anyway let me know. I still hate it. ;)**_


	5. Kisses

**A/N: You guys are gonna hate the start of this chapter, but you're gonna love the end. Thanks especially to Champagne Scene (check out her stuff!!), Lanter, KeyLime, Pigwiz, and I have OCD who constantly review this or offer fantastically critical and guiding reviews (looking at you CS). I know they're are so many others who are reviewing this so thanks to you too! **

_v. I dive in at the deep end/you become my best friend/I wanna love you but I don't know if I can//I know something is broken/and I'm trying to fix it/trying to repair it/any way I can_

"I'm Carly!"

"And I'm Sam!"

"And this is iCarly, telling you to stay in school kids..."

"...Eat a muffin a day...."

"And always, always take a spoonful of sugar before bed."

"And we're...clear!" Freddie announced, clicking off his camera, "Great show guys."

"Yeah, I loved the segment on skate boarding dogs," Sam giggled, "It was awesome."

"It was your segment idea Sam," Freddie reminded her, settling his camera on the tech cart.

"I know," she grinned, "Aren't I amazing?"

He glanced up, catching her eye and offering her a rather cheeky smile. She felt her cheeks rush with colour, the back of her neck tingling. Sam was not easily flattered – boys tended to fall at the first hurdle. But Freddie had this undeniable knack for keeping her titillated. It seemed all her time was consumed with willing one of his smouldering looks to life, or indeed provoke them by touch or stare. What was most frustrating was that he rarely reacted, never giving her what she wanted. Instead she had to wait, agonisingly so, until she'd catch him, his brown eyes tracing her frame up and down (often pausing on her now ample chest, god bless hormones). If he licked his lips, her knees would often threaten to buckle beneath her. She cursed him every day. He, of all people, was not allowed to have such power of her. And she battled it, but such a battle of wills made it all the more...seductive.

Carly watched them, leaning against the wall. She paid more attention now, and chided herself – how could she have been so blind to what was going on? They stared at each other – blatantly so – they flirted constantly, and they had a rapport which could only be compared to some sort of Joanie Loves Chachi scene. She wondered if they lied to her (again), or if they were even aware of what was going on. She wouldn't exactly be surprised if neither of them had gauged the sudden turn in events. But then again she wouldn't be surprised if they lied to her either. They had before, and she was so gullible that they could have been having wild monkey sex for month's now and she wouldn't have even realised. However, more than anything she was acutely aware of the tightening in her stomach when she thought of them together. Carly was a jealous person – she knew this – it was her fatal flaw. She wasn't a gluttonous person, there was a distinct difference to her, but she was a jealous person. If someone had what she wanted, she would envy them to the point where her stomach would twist in knots and her blood pressure would sky rocket. She didn't claim it to be one of the more attractive aspects to her personality but at least she acknowledged it.

And that's precisely why she struggled with the "Freddie and Sam" situation. It was no secret that Carly had been single for a less than acceptable eight long months, and she found herself wondering if it was her lack of relationship that meant she was jealous of their new relationship or was it that she was actually jealous because she wanted Freddie herself? In which case this was a completely deplorable form of jealousy that she would punish herself for by means of hours and hours of jogging and kick boxing. The worst part was she was no clearer on the answer, despite two months of hard questioning. And Freddie didn't exactly discourage her when she flirted either. In fact she distinctly remembered some interesting comments he made about her, him and her cheerleading outfit. But on the other hand, Freddie has been known to flirt shamelessly with her for years. Perhaps he was just finding it difficult to slip out of such a routine rapport. The whole situation made her head hurt. Sam was her best friend and she _wanted_ her best friend to be happy. More than happy; she wanted her to be blissful. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she might owe it to herself to see how Freddie felt. And perhaps equally as important, see how she felt about him.

"Right, I'm out dudes," Sam announced, slipping into her jacket.

"Where are you going?" Freddie's voice came out a little higher than he had intended it to, and Sam raised her eyebrows, smirking.

"Um, to Mexico."

"What?!"

"Relax dorkazoid," she sighed, rolling her eyes at Carly, "I gotta go babysit the next door neighbour's kid. I need to make some money somehow, may as well do it by watching Spongebob with a five year old."

Freddie laughed, feeling a little bit foolish. He didn't need to give Carly more reason to be suspicious. Although he still wasn't sure if she had anything to be suspicious of. Sam had gotten the whole "avoiding relationship talks" thing down. So Freddie was no closer in determining what he was to her, let alone label it. He was also a little ashamed to admit she had still expressed no interest in kissing him. None. Not even a peck on the cheek. It kind of bruised a guy's ego. And by God he tried. He hovered during their ritual goodbyes at the end of their "dates", he tried flirting and winking (Sam thought there was something in his eye and punched it), he even tried flirting with another girl. _Nothing_ worked. She just expressed a serious lack of interest. Except when it came to holding his hand. _That_ she was still interested in.

"Laters!" Sam said, waving him out of his hormone induced daze. His gaze followed her out the iCarly studio and without looking at Carly he told her he was going downstairs to get food. It was only after he descended the stairs he realised he was perhaps a little rude for not offering to get her anything. Carly watched them go, her eyes falling to a spot on the floor. Being seventeen was no fun at all she decided. No fun at all.

* * *

"Sam!" Freddie called, hushed. He bounded down the stairs with such enthusiasm she had the strongest urge to compare him to a golden retriever.

"Yes Lassie?"

And apparently wasn't going to fight said urge.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, all misty eyed and blushing. She despised how cute he managed to be. It was that ridiculous cuteness that got them into this situation.

"Did you come down here to tell me something or are we gonna stare at each other until we either get old and grey or I decide to kill one of us?" she questioned, "And I feel that I should inform you, I'm not feeling too suicidal."

He chuckled and she raised her eyebrows, surprised he should take her threat so lightly. "I just wanted to say bye."

"Erm...ok," she said, deliberately punctuating her words, "Bye Nerdface."

"Bye...." he paused, giving her his best boyish half smirk, "Bye Sam."

"You're weirder than usual today Benson," she frowned, letting her eyes do a quick sweep of his body from head to toe, "Really weird."

He managed a small shrug, before she turned on her heel and walked right out of the apartment. He couldn't even count that as a near kiss. That was near nothing. Sighing, he trudged back up to the studio with a look on his face that Carly couldn't simply ignore.

"What's up Freddie?" she asked, approaching him. Freddie watched her swaying form, finding the movement of her hips hypnotising. He couldn't help it. _Damn teenage hormones. _

"Nothing...actually something!" he sighed again, exasperated. "Am I always going after the wrong girl? I mean seriously. It's like I have a defective gene or something that says I'll only go out with girls who don't give a rat's ass about me. I mean there's you, Valarie, Wendy, S-...Wendy."

"You said Wendy twice," she smiled, hoisting herself up on his tech cart. Carly wore skirts often; this became more apparent in his early adolescence and become more important in the later years. Skirts plus young teenage boy equals recipe for countless unwanted boners. And the skirt she chose today was shorter than usual. And tighter.

_Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend! At least I think. Darn it._

"Yeah I did, didn't I?" he choked out, his eyes tracing down her long slim legs. She grinned, more than happy by his blatant appraisal of her body. Carly knew she had a good body; she fought hard to keep it like that. And she knew how to use it to her advantage. Her legs opened a little, but only a little. She could see his Adams apple bob as he took a long gulp.

"Maybe...you're not always chasing the wrong girl," she whispered. He floated closer, tentatively reaching out and placing his hands on either side of her.

"Really? And who on that list isn't the wrong girl?"

She grinned, his breath lapping against her mouth. She moved in sharply, capturing his lips with hers. His first thought was of the unfamiliarity of the feeling. It was new, slightly different to what he expected. He sort of expected stars and explosions but none of that happened. His lips moved with hers. There were clumsy moments; tongues slipping, teeth bumping. Despite this she was an ok kisser; not that Freddie had much of a frame of reference. It finished and she pulled back, her face contorted.

"Well that was..."

"Weird," he finished for her. Their eyes met and she muffled a laugh into her hand.

"Oh God Freddie," she chuckled, "I'm sorry. I just thought...I dunno. That was just so odd."

"Yeah," he agreed, "Kind of an anti climax huh?"

"Kinda."

Both laughed again and Freddie rested his forehead to hers, closing his eyes and taking in a slow breath. "I really wanted that to work."

"Me too," she concurred, moving her hands to his cheeks and pulling his forehead to her soft lips. Another sigh and he turned his back to her, grasping the roots of his hair with both hands and letting out some sort of frustrated noise.

"Was it like that with Sam?"

He whipped around, surprised.

"Like when we were fifteen?"

Her brow arched and she crossed her arms underneath her stomach, giving him that all knowing Carly look.

"You know?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"I know something is up with you two yeah. Walking in to find your best friends all snugly in your bed is sort of a giveaway."

"She gave me a Chinese burn the next day for nearly touching her boob," he told Carly, reproachfully. Carly laughed, jumping down off the tech cart.

"Are you two dating?"

"I thought we were....and if we are that makes me the biggest jerk in the world for kissing you."

"It makes me the worst friend in the world."

"I don't know," he mumbled, turning his back again, "I really don't."

"How can you not know if you're dating someone?"

"Cos...we've like gone out together where I pay for stuff and she's normal, and that makes me think we're dating but she hasn't...I mean we haven't..."

"Had sex?" Carly asked.

"No! No...Jesus the chance would be a fine thing."

"Then what? She hasn't touched you yet? You haven't touched her?"

"Again no. Carly Shay, you becoming a cheerleader has clearly given you a very dirty mind."

She stuck out her small pink tongue. "I try. But I don't get it? Are you two dating?"

"We haven't kissed," he informed her. Her eyes widened, surprised.

"Oh...right. Well. Hmm."

"Helpful. Thanks Carls."

"No sorry Freddie, I just. Sam's always been so eager. Honestly, I thought she might have liked you but now..."

"You don't know."

"Yeah."

"Welcome to my world."

She watched as he flung himself into a beanbag and lay back dramatically.

"Have you thought about asking her?"

"Yeah. Like a billion times. But then I think what if the answers no? And she either a) mocks me for the rest of my life or b) thinks I'm total loser for even thinking it and never speaks to me again."

Both fell silent, contemplating. "She keeps holding my hand though," he murmured, staring at his palm.

"Wait. She's held your hand?"

His eyes flashed up to a now rather excited Carly, who was grinning wildly. "Errr...yeah?"

"Dude, do you know when Sam last held hands with someone?"

"No."

"It was kindergarten. His name was Timmy. She told him she liked him and he held her hand and then held Kimmie Wilders hand the next day. Sam so hurt and swore she would never ever hold a boys hand again. And she never did."

"Kimmie and Timmy?" Freddie questioned, eyebrows raised.

"Out of all that, that's the part you focus on? No wonder you were single for so long."

"So what you're saying is, Sam equates hand holding with...?"

"With her feelings. It's like giving away her heart. Sort of the most intimate thing she can do. Yeah, it's fucked up but you are dating Sam Puckett."

Freddie didn't suppress the large grin that spread across his face. "Me and Sam are dating?"

Carly returned it, her eyes twinkling in the florescent lights. "Yes Brad. You and Angelina are dating. With the distinct possibility for marriage may I add. And lots of mixed race adopted children."

He jumped from his beanbag and punched the air, excited. "Sam and I are dating. I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear the last part, but Sam and I are dating!"

She jumped with him. "I know. Whoo."

"I gotta go!" he exclaimed, suddenly and ran past her out the studio.

"Good luck!" she yelled after him, still smiling. He appeared again and rushed towards her, smacking his closed lips off hers.

"Love you Shay."

"Love you Benson."

She watched him rush out, nearly taking the tech cart with him. Suddenly Carly wasn't jealous anymore. She was genuinely happy. She would still later consult her little black book, text her old friend Mason Jenkins and ask him out. Well, she was happy for them but she would kind of like to be happy for herself too.

* * *

Freddie continued to run the entire five miles to Sam's neighbour's house, his legs throbbing by the time he had reached the paint chipped porch. He took ten seconds to catch his breath, before ringing the doorbell, impatient.

"All right, keep your pants on!" he heard Sam yell from the hallway.

"Freddie, what are you-"

She was cut off mid sentence by Freddie pressing his lips to hers, and she mumbled some sort of sound, her eyes still wide open. She struggled a little but he pushed her back against the front wall, effectively trapping her with both hands. She stood parallel against the cold stone, her palms turned backwards and splayed against the concrete. At first neither moved, Sam bewildered by what she was now considering mouth rape, and Freddie terrified that at any moment Sam would lash out and he would lose little Freddie. He thought if he was going to die later anyway, he may as well go with a good try. He moved his lips experimentally over hers and by the third passing he felt her react, her own moulding perfectly to his. He screwed open one eye, and found that hers had fluttered shut and she was now putting everything she had into making it a good, honest toe-curling kiss. With perfect synchronisation and tilted heads, their lips danced. Freddie felt her mouth open, her shy tongue peaking out and running over his bottom lip coaxing it open. He let her in and had to force back a moan that attempted to escape as her tongue met his. It was natural, no sloppiness or bumping of teeth. Although Sam did so something interesting to his bottom lip with her teeth, combining it with the sexiest growl he had ever heard. Her hands now tangled in his boyish hair, raking over his scalp as she pulled her body flush with his. He shuddered and kept his hands firmly fixed to wall, afraid that they might betray him.

Sam pulled back first, her chest heaving.

"Benson, what the hell?" she breathed, meeting a set of searing brown eyes. He brushed his lips to hers and grinned.

"Damn you Samantha Puckett," he swore against her. His words sent a shiver down her spine, their lips still touching.

"What?"

"I think you might be the one."

She blinked, uncomprehending and he pulled back completely before turning and walking away from the house. Sam didn't call him back. She instead fell down against the wall fighting for breath and cursing the day she allowed herself to feel anything for Fredweird Benson.

* * *

**Well did we like it? Hate it? Want more? That is not the end of the sexual tension my friends. Just cos they kissed doesn't mean it's gonna be all that easy from here on in. What? I love the tension ;) I hate the ending by the way. I really struggled with endings. Read and review, it's the brightest part of my day hearing what you lot have to say. **


	6. Misses

_**A/N: Second last part guys, nearly there! :) I think/hope I maintained that tension that make Freddie/Sam so adorable as a pairing. I think it's great so many of you loved slutty Carly lol Even if I didn't mean to make her too slutty, just a little bit more mature than our favourite two. I saw her with Griffin, if he didn't have those Pee Wee babies she woulda totally done stuff in that bedroom teehee Couldn't blame her though could ya? Again thanks to my reviewers and readers 'specially SamLovesHam, I have Ocd, Lanter, KeyLime, Pigwiz and Champagne Scene. Oh and if anyone here hasn't yet read IGo to Dingo World go read it, it's so much fun :) I heart it. I know some of ye might be thinking wow Sam has turned into a kissing slut in this chapter but to explain, you know how it is. Once you get on that train there really ain't no getting off. :P Ok onwards. **_

_vi. But now bridges are burning/baby I'm learning/a new way of thinkin' now//Love I can see/nothing will be/just like it was/is that because//baby you're so unusual/didn't anyone tell you you're supposed to/break my heart/I expect you to/so why haven't you?//_

Why is it that when a guy gets something he tends to want more, straight after? Freddie kissed her, he walked away patting his own back and rewarding himself for the exemplary courage he'd shown by committing the act. Because, trust him, it was courageous. He could have very well lost a limb and never walked again. But almost immediately in the days that followed Freddie found himself lusting after the small blonde demon more and more. That could possibly be down to the fact she ignored him for a week after, letting him know that he wasn't in fact in control of their relationship and she considered the whole act of face rape completely inappropriate. She emphasised her point with her fist on numerous occasions.

He decided then, he would never understand women. Especially this woman. She had responded to the kiss, hell, she was the one who stuck her tongue in! Why was he the only guilty party? Knowing better however, he accepted the silent treatment as his punishment. He even had to do without the hand holding stuff. And just when he thought that was probably it and he'd ended their relationship forever, she caught him off guard in a way only Sam could. Walking down the empty hallway in school during a free period he was jostled into the janitor's closet by a hand shooting out from inside it. Just as he was going to blow on the emergency whistle his mother had bought him he realised that his assailant was quite small and very blonde and was now attaching herself to his lips. He relaxed into it, the all too familiar taste of fat cakes and coffee settling in his mouth. Now he did have questions, many of them in fact. Namely as to why she had decided it was ok for her to commit face rape and not him. But then he realised he would be a very hormonal guy, turning down a seemingly very horny girl in favour of talking. And that just could not happen. He would accept the double standard and put it down to experience. Besides, she was now doing something with her mouth near his collar bone that made him want to throw her on top of the work surface and have his not so manly (more rather nerdy) way with her. The heavy make out session lasted all of a minute and a half, before she pushed him off, wiped her mouth and left him stunned in the darkness.

The scene became routine, although the set changed many times. But each time Sam was very insistent that his hands never _ever_ leave her waist. Sure,_ hers_ were allowed to go wherever they wanted but apparently this was going to be never where_ he_ wanted. More _near_.

It was like the worst form of torture. _Ever_.

Sam, he was now more freely admitting, was a very, very hot girl. And flexible, did he mention she was flexible? And here she was clambering all over him every time they were alone and he wasn't even allowed to _touch_ her. It was in fact his worst nightmare. Fredward Benson scolded himself for feeling so frustrated by the situation. He was always the gentleman and he would still never push a girl into something she wasn't ready for, especially a girl who had been his friend for so long. He didn't want to change, he wanted to remain nerdy and sexless but it was proving a damn near impossible task. He vented to Carly, who could offer very little consolation but did inform him that if he pushed her best friend into anything she'd hunt him down and cut his manhood off, to which he was mildly offended. Sure, he was now seventeen and seventeen year old boys did think a lot about sex but he'd like to think he had some scruples left. In fact he was more insulted that Carly would even think that he'd even attempt to coerce Sam Puckett into anything so seedy. But then again Carly had become super protective since their kiss. He put this down to perhaps a little bit of guilt on Carly's behalf; he could see her try to make it up to her best friend. For weeks after Carly took the longest showers known to man and let Freddie know in no uncertain terms that they were both very bad people. It wasn't that Freddie didn't feel the guilt too – he did – but he rationalised it away.

He didn't know they were dating.

He thought he was in love with Carly.

But after he had worn himself out explaining to his conscience the many excuses for why he had kissed his girlfriend's best friend he was left with one conclusion; Freddie Benson was human. And so was Carly Shay. They made a _mistake_. In the confusion of the moment, in the heat of adolescence Freddie didn't listen to the logical part of his brain. But it was perhaps a mistake that made him realise how much he cared for Samantha Puckett. And could be the mistake that would make him lose her.

_Damn her. _

_Damn him. _

The ring of his front doorbell echoed through the empty apartment and Freddie answered to Sam, drenched from head to toe and shivering. She bustled in, teeth chattering.

"Is it...raining?" Freddie asked dumbly. She shot him a pointed glare.

"No. I thought I'd come out like this for shits and giggles," she replied, deadpan.

"Come on," he ushered her with one hand carefully placed on her lower back to his room, "I'll get you some dry clothes."

The apartment was darkened, the day dreary but his room was even moreso. His blinds were pulled shut and Sam struggled to see around her. She stood in the doorway watching as he rummaged through his drawers and handed her a large red sweatshirt and a pair of grey bottoms. She took them and walked to his bed. Before he could even offer her privacy she pulled off her wet t-shirt and Freddie's eyes (he maintains accidently) wandered up her glistening flat torso to her bright purple bra.

"Crazy isn't home then?" Sam queried, bending to pull off her jeans.

"Uh...um...huh," Freddie stuttered, his eyes focusing on the ceiling as he mouthed some sort of prayer to above. He was sure she did all this on purpose. First; withholding her kisses, nearly breaking him (he doesn't count the kiss with Carly as a breakdown, merely a lapse in judgement). Second; making out with him and forcing him to keep his hands glued to her sides. And third and finally; stripping in front of him.

Torture, that's what it was.

Some sort of new fangled Freddie Benson torture method she cooked up when completely bored one day. And damn was it working.

"Still articulate as ever Benson," she muttered. She hazarded a glance at him now backed up against the bedroom wall, his gaze firmly focused on the ceiling. She gave a half smile before regarding the items of neatly folded clothing on the bed with renewed interest.

"She's visiting a sick Aunt in New York," his croaky voice came from the corner.

"And she let you stay here alone? Did you lace her coffee with vallium or something?" Sam mumbled pulling on the hoodie.

"Mom's calmed down a lot I'll have you know."

Silence.

"She has."

A sigh.

"Ok, she bugged the place, but I got them all," Freddie sighed, defeated.

"You can stop staring out the ceiling now," Sam informed him. His eyes returned to her small frame, drowned in his baggy clothes. "I think the ceiling won."

"The ceiling did not win," he muttered approaching her. She gasped silently as his hands fell to the drawstring on her grey sweatpants and he pulled tight. "You can't have a staring contest with inanimate objects."

He was unbearably close, his breath hot on her face as he fumbled with string. "Can so, it's only wimps and nerds who can't," she murmured watching his hands rhythmically bow the thread. He gave a boyish smirk, the one that sent her stomach into flutters of butterflies and made her feel all dizzy and hot. Sam Puckett had to constantly remind herself to snap out of her Freddie induced dazes and this was no exception. It was as if someone clicked their fingers right in her face and she blurted out "What did I say about hands on the waist?"

Freddie looked alarmed, mostly as his hands weren't even touching her. Instead his fingers were toying with the string of her waistband absently but he froze, staring down at their feet. He could either run or stand his ground. When faced with fight or flight, Freddie often heavily favoured the latter, especially when threatened by Sam but in this instance he puffed out his chest, his eyes bravely meeting hers. There was always this feeling when they were about to kiss, this tension that was usually only felt by two strangers. It remained with them, something they lived with and grew accustomed to (sort of like the constant threat of terrorism or Sam constantly smelling of dirt and ribs). Almost like it was always going to be their first time.

"Just...shut up," he instructed his voice a husky whisper.

He reached out and grabbed the waist of her sweats pulling her forward, their mouths crashing together. It was an exhilarating experience, kissing her in his bedroom. Her hands were as busy as ever, grasping his hair and raking his scalp, her body pushed urgently against his. He often thought of the sharp comparison between them; soft curves moulded into a hard frame, small delicate hands tangled with rough skin. The idea that Sam Puckett was actually soft, small and feminine was not one that sat well with Freddie. If he actually thought about it, he'd worry he might have the ability to crush her and he'd never touch her again. Hell, he'd just lock her in his closet so nothing bad could ever happen her. She'd probably just axe her way out and kick the shit out of him though. He dared to move his lips down the curve of her neck, sucking on a particularly sensitive area of skin.

"Benson," she growled, her fingers digging into the back of his neck. She felt his teeth graze over, the action of biting then licking driving her crazy. She whimpered, clenching her eyes shut. Unconsciously he moved, knocking her backwards onto the bed and climbing on top, one leg resting between her knees, the other planted on the floor. She demanded his lips on hers, pulling them back to her mouth. She kissed how she acted; fierce and harsh. It was something Freddie could see himself getting used to. Something happened in his head, an image of Carly warning him not to push her flashed somewhere between light and dark. It was brief, but enough to drag him back to reality. He pulled back, sharp and abrupt, eyeing a heavy lidded Sam sprawled on the dark blue of his sheets. She propped herself up on her elbows.

"Dinner," he spluttered, jumping up, "I'm making us dinner." He fled the room, leaving her gasping for air on his bed. He busied himself with utensils and vegetables, plates and cutlery clashing loudly through the near silent apartment. Sam shuffled out into the kitchen doorway, leaning sideways on the frame.

"So, what we having?" she asked his back.

"Nothing fried, I don't care if you hit me or whatever you've had fried crap all week. I was thinking spaghetti and meatballs or something." She edged her way to the kitchen, her finger trailing over the backs of chairs before her hand finally came to rest on the counter top.

"You don't tell me what to do," she dared, half smiling half scowling.

"Well then go eat elsewhere."

She lifted a piece of freshly chopped pepper and held it between her teeth as she hoisted herself onto the kitchen top.

"Stop eating the ingredients!" he sighed, exasperated.

"Stop leaving food in full few."

"Stop being such a pig."

"Ditto."

He gave an over emphatic eye roll before passing her to go the fridge.

"Get me some squeezy cheese," she ordered. Freddie, as always, obliged and picked out the tube as well as some other ingredients. On his way back he held out the canister but she caught his hand pulling him back with it. He watched curiously, hands resting on her thighs as she squeezed some of the contents directly to the back of her throat and swallowed with a loud snort. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Attractive."

"I know I'm so hot," she said through a mouthful of bright orange cheese and he chuckled as she wiped a smudge across his cheek. "That's for being a sarcastic bastard."

He watched her with wide eyes as her pink tongue darted over her lips repeatedly, seeking out any remainder of the cheesy substance. After a long moment she caught his stare and mirrored his earlier eye roll. "What?" she asked, impatient.

"I hate you so much," he laughed, disbelieving. She opened her mouth, probably to launch a scathing attack but he leaned in, capturing her lips for the second time that night. He could feel her protest a little but Sam's protests seemed to be rather feeble when she kissed him. It was nice to know he could exert control over one aspect of their relationship. She relaxed into it, her hands once again raking through his hair, her legs wrapped around his waist. He wondered if he would ever get bored with this girl. He doubted it severely. Sam was just one of those people that you'd have a ridiculous fascination with. Mostly because she was indeed ridiculously fascinating. She chuckled against his lips, her own curving into a smile as she kissed him.

"Quit being such a pervert," she whispered still smiling into his kisses.

"Quit lovin' it so much."

He loved how her back arched forward and how her hands found his, bringing them far apart and high into the air as she stretched and outstretched her fingers between his. He loved how she pushed at him a little but her legs pulled him in. He loved the idea of her wearing his sweatpants. Hell he loved he-

"Get off!" she growled, pushing him back forcibly. He stumbled backwards, knocking into the wooden dining table.

"Sam! What the hell?"

She jumped down and brushed herself off. "I gotta check my e-mail. Laptop in your room Nerdface?"

"Y-yeah," he stuttered, staring at her retreating form in disbelief.

_Yeah, he hated her. _

After a few minutes of cooking in silence he felt the need to make contact with the demon blonde in his room. She had gone suspiciously quiet after all.

"So I was thinking about prom," he called into her, "Are we going together? Probably not I know but just in case I was wanting to like get you a corsage and stuff. Maybe even tell my Mom about us...I know I know. You hate my Mom but we gotta tell her eventually Sam...oh hey I meant to say I got us tickets to an MMA fight. Ringside seats and all so you can get splattered with the good blood. Don't worry I'm paying for everything, you think you might wan-"

He spun around and gasped, startled at Sam standing in the kitchen doorway staring at him.

"Sam?" he asked. She was looking at him funny, and her eyes kind of looked like she had been crying.

"You couldn't even wait?" she croaked out.

"Couldn't wait for what? To ask you about the fight? I thought I'd surprise you."

"You pretend to be all noble and nerdish but you're exactly like the rest of them aren't you?"

"I'm sorry Sam I'm lost, what's so bad about taking you to a fight?"

"I'm not talking about the fight," she gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Then...what?"

"You left the camera on. Last week in the studio. The day we did the skateboarding dogs."

"What?" he asked again, his eyes searching her blank face. "Skateboarding...oh God."

His heart sank, he felt like he was drowning. He couldn't get a breath. She took a step forward raising a shaky finger and pointed it at his face.

"You. You kissed Carly."


	7. Authors Note

Hey guys,

So I know you're all probably super annoyed right now cos you thought I was updating but I thought I'd just explain why the final chapter of this hasn't gone up. I lost it a few months back when my pen drive died a spectacular death in college along with all my seminar work. It was REALLY long, and since then I just haven't had the time to re-write. I had Finals, and I have to move cities and life is just completely crazy right now. To be honest I think I've kind of lost my Seddie mojo too. There's just been no inspiration for me as regards this ship; everything I attempt to do with them of late seems contrived and forced and I don't want to do that with the last chapter of this story. Honestly the show just hasn't been up to par these past few episodes (though iBelieve in Bigfoot was a lot better). It's not even that iCarly is lacking Seddie, it's just lacking what made it special to me in the first place. I really hope it picks up again. In the meantime rest assured, once I've settled and slept I'll get to finishing this. Besides, there are some other excellent writers popping up in this fandom, and to be honest they write much better than I could, so I'd say you all will live without updates from me for a while ;) I've attached a list of fics you guys should really check out if you haven't already. Anyway dudes, peace out for now.

Pieequals3

Fics by name and author:

iWouldn't Ask Anna That – Mistress of Craziness

Vague Advances and Second Chances – Blackballoons

iBow Tie – sunlitdays7

What Makes Sense – Basco57

iCarly's Own MLP – Luna Moody

Remember me, remember you – pearlbutton328

Holiday Spirit – spinlight

(these are the one's I can remember off the top of my head, but there are so many out there that are worth checking out. Plus these author's kick my ass so don't just check out the fic's suggested, look at the rest of their stuff too. One word – amazing! )


	8. The End Where I Begin

**_A/N: Ok so yeah I finally finished this one. Like I said I lost the original draft of the chapter and I'll be honest this draft isn't anywhere near as good but I really wanna give you guys an ending of some form to this. There's a whole part I left out in the middle, where Sam and Carly clear the air. To be honest I couldn't recreate it like I had orginally so I left it out. How I figure is that it's a Sam/Freddie story ultimately anyway and the Carly/Sam conflict is resolved in some one way. Also just to warn you guys the start is a little intense so very worthy of the T rating it's been given. I may do an Epilogue chapter just to tie it all up in a neat bow but for now this is the best I can do. It's a shame cos I loved this story and I wish I coulda produced the same ending I did orginally. Anyways on with the show. _**

* * *

_Vii. Three whole words/and eight letters late/and that would have worked/on me yesterday/I say your name/and in the same breath/I say something/that I'll grow to regret/cos I don't know who I am/when you're/running circles in my head/and I don't know/just who you are/when you're sleeping in someone else's bed_

"You. You kissed Carly."

Silence engulfed the small two bedroom apartment, Freddie staring at her waiting for something, anything, to happen. But it didn't. She didn't scream, she didn't cry, she didn't hit him. She stood there for what seemed like the longest time deathly silent, staring at the floor, her hands clenching and unclenching. It was a repetitive motion and the only sound that could be heard. He was desperate for her to react; he needed her to react so _he_ could. His head debated between defending himself or admitting to everything and taking his punishment as it came. Like a tennis game, he went back and forth but it would seem he would have much time for said debate. She remained quiet, gaze still angled at the floor and he was sure he could see tiny droplets of water fall from her face. He wanted desperately to hold her in that moment, to turn back the clock and change everything that he had done. It was an odd feeling but he never expected that he would be the one to let _her_ down. A pathetic part of him believed it would be she who would mess up, she would be the one to make the first mistake. As it turned out he was equally as human and perhaps even more of screw up.

Except now that wasn't what she was. She wasn't the bane of his existence, no longer the thorn in his side. Right now she was his _girlfriend_, graced with a worldly innocence and virtue and hurting because of something _he_ had done. He had cheated on his girlfriend and the repercussions were all down to him. Sam had done_ nothing wrong_.In that moment he realised she had been everything she could be; she had tried and made an effort. And he hadn't noticed. He had let all these efforts, all these small changes she made go unrecognised; in fact rather he had punished her for them. Sam had opened up to him, she had done what was perhaps the hardest thing for her to do and let him in and he tore her down.

Eventually she craned her head upwards, her eyes meeting his. There was something there he didn't recognise and couldn't name. She didn't look hurt nor did she seem angry. She was just this vacuole of space, gazing back at him with piercing blue irises.

"Sam say something," he beseeched, voice barely a whisper.

Something flashed briefly in her eyes, something that looked suspiciously like anger. She forced it down, with an audible gulp.

"What do you want me to say Freddie?" she croaked out, "Do you want me to yell, scream even? Do you want me to hit you?"

"Sam..." he uttered her name gently, watching as she became more agitated.

"Do you want me cry over you kissing my _best friend_? Kissing my best friend while trying so hard to win me over? Do you want me to hit her, scream at her? Huh Freddie?" she yelled, gesturing wildly.

"Sam please."

"No what Freddie?" her voice broke into a scream and she stepped into his personal space, small and menacing, "What do you want me _say_?"

"I...I don't know," he stuttered, "I just want..."

"What? What could you possibly want?"

"I want..." he dragged off, his hand flying to the back of his head, raking through the hair there.

An ominous smile crept across her face and she let out what sounded like a laugh. It was a bitter sound, heavy in the silence. "Oh...you want me to say that's ok? That I forgive you? Huh?"

He turned from her, unable to take the torrent of abuse thrown at him but she was relentless. She followed, poked and prodded, forcing him back up against the kitchen counter. He tried desperately to control her, but she became erratic with both her words and actions. She spewed venomous slurs while kicking, spitting and scratching out. Her movements were clumsy, her hands hitting anything and everything they could get near; his head, his face, his chest, his arms.

"Sam, stop!" he grunted, attempting to grasp her arms quickly losing patience with her outburst. But she wasn't listening; upset and squealing she continued to hit and punch. He considered taking the abuse, to stand there and let her physically vent her anger towards him (perhaps the world in general but this he couldn't dwell on). But he had taken so much from Sam in the past, how much more before it became unacceptable? Instead of empathising, understanding why she was upset_ he_ was suddenly vilely mad. Was she justified in her own anger? Was she allowed to keep doing this to him like she had down a thousand times over? In fact if anything did she not ask for this; for some form of revenge? He was irrational, livid, sad and despairing all at the same time. Something inside Freddie Benson snapped and he roared, pushing her back sharply by her upper arms. She stumbled but did not fall and, undeterred, rushed him again still punching blindly. Both began to yell and scream, Freddie desperately trying to control her, Sam desperately trying to physically make him feel some of the hurt that she felt inside. Finally he managed to grasp her, shaking roughly, screaming obscenities in her face mixed with an instruction to stop. _To just stop_.

"Fuck this, I'm going," she hissed into his face, manoeuvring out of his grasp.

"Going where?" he yelled, exasperated while following her to the front door.

"I'm leaving _you_!" she sneered, walking purposely forward. He caught her arm, pulling her back with a violent tug. She turned, slamming into his body and fighting his grip once again. More pulling and pushing, more fighting and screaming before Sam spat into his face effectively freeing herself from his arms. She backed up, her breath heaving in her chest.

A silence fell in the room again, disappointed and heavy. In that moment Freddie knew there was no point, there was nothing to salvage. He was fighting for a girl, who the entire time didn't want to be fought for. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes, absorbing the stillness.

"This is so messed up," he sighed, burying his face in his hands, wiping her saliva from his eye, "Look at what we're doing...we're fighting like school kids. We're hurting each other. _I'm_ hurting _you_."

"This is us," she said, in a rare moment of lucidity, "We hurt each other. It's all we know how to do."

"I don't want to hurt you anymore," he mumbled, wiping his face with his palms. He met her gaze and she shrugged. "Sam I don't wanna hurt you. I'm sorry if I have. I never will again. I just...I wanted you to stop. I want to explain."

"You don't need to," she asserted, holding back emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface, "And there's no way you could hurt me." She looked like a little girl lost ghosting the doorway of the kitchen in oversized sweats, wild curls wet against her face from the rain. He remembered something in that moment. Something she had told him months ago and he can't push it to the back of his mind no matter how hard he tried.

"You once told me," he murmured, still struggling to regulate his breathing, "You told me you'd never cry over anything that doesn't matter. But you're crying now...so this matters Sam. We matter."

"I'm not crying over you," she blurted, "I'm crying...I'm crying because I'm wet, I'm tired, I'm hungry and I'm _sick _of you. We don't matter – I matter. And I'm not going to stick around and watch you pull the same crap as my Dad did."

His eyes snapped to hers reproachfully. "I'll never be like your father."

Disappointed, she expelled a breath. "You already are."

"You know that's not true. You know we worked, you know we were going somewhere," he corrected her, persistent in his approach. He moved towards her slowly, his eyes trained to her face. She kept her own gaze firmly focused on a spot on the floor refusing to look at him but she could still feel him close, his breath against the top of her head and she drew her arms protectively around her middle.

"Fuck you, no it wasn't. We were messing about, it means nothing."

"Liar," he accused, shadowing her.

"You're not in a position to be calling anyone a liar here Benson," she growled, her eyes sweeping up to meet his.

"Maybe not, but it takes one to know one."

"You slept with Carly!" she shrieked, her voice breaking.

"I didn't sleep with Carly," he groaned, hunching down slightly to catch her eye, "I kissed her once. That was it."

"She's my best friend," Sam sniffled, her own grip of her waist tightening, "Why my best friend?"

"I was stupid Sam," he told her, heaving a sigh, "I am stupid."

He tried to wrap his arms around her feeling her unresponsive to his embrace**.** "I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said; I don't care if we hurt each other. I mean I care...but you're right that's just us. But it works right – when we're good we're great. I just...I love you too much to let this finish. I'm just sorry."

It was the first time he had ever told her he loved her and in this moment it was a stark paradox, something he couldn't even believe he had said after what he had done. After what they had done to each other.

He planted kisses over her face and head, feeling her hands fall limp to her sides, his own arms wrapped around her waist pulling her to him. He kept mumbling apologies under his breath, until he reached her lips, kissing her there. She didn't respond so he persisted, each kiss a little firmer than the last desperate to feel anything.

"No," she half sobbed, pushing at his chest. He kept kissing her, trying to silence her protests. "No Freddie. No."

She pulled her head away to shield herself from his inexorable kisses, her eyes screwed shut.

"I'm sorry," he breathed again standing limp in front of her, his forehead resting against her temple.

"You can't kiss me and expect things to just go back. Things can't go back," she told him, her voice quivering. His head felt heavy on his shoulders, almost as if it could fall off. For a brief moment he thought of the idea of a world collapsing and he imagined this was what it felt like. The churning feeling in his stomach, the blurred vision and the throbbing headache; this was his world ending. Worry overwhelmed, panic prevailed. She was stepping further and further away, edging towards the front door. She was leaving and it was quite the symbolic gesture, nothing like Freddie had ever experienced before.

She shook her head, her hand playing with her mouth.

"I'm stupid and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He kept repeating the words over and over, until eventually they lost all meaning and all it was, was a pathetic plea for her to stay. All he wanted was to make her stay. But she leaving, slipping out the door almost as abruptly as she had entered. He followed as if by instinct but by the time he had reached the hallway and rounded the corner the elevator doors were shutting his face. For one last time his met hers, little black mascara rivulets staining her pale white skin. The ping of the doors added a finality he couldn't comprehend. He was left staring at cold metal and closed doors, with a loss so great he feared his heart would never break like this again. And that was the true tragedy.

* * *

Four weeks on and with prom night descending on the Benson household Sam still had not made contact with her now ex boyfriend. From Carly he had gathered that she was indeed still talking with her best friend although had given her the cold shoulder at first. She told Carly this was more of a punishment on herself though because she really couldn't function without her best friend. He'd loathingly admit he was jealous, she seemed to manage just fine without him. Carly had even briefly mentioned that the blonde was still considering her options for prom. He chose to believe these "options" were simply whether to go or not. The idea of her considering anything _else_ was beyond the realm of understanding for Freddie, and not an idea that sat comfortably with him. His decision had been made however the moment the elevator doors closed; he was not going to his final prom. Without Sam's presence in any context there was no prom for him, none that he could imagine. She was needed; she was the biggest part of his life next to Carly and without her something didn't feel right and he couldn't even approach the idea of such an event.

A soft knock thudded on the wooden door of his bedroom and he didn't even bother to crane his neck up from where it bent over the back of his swivel chair, his limbs flayed out lazily.

"And what the heck is this? Why aren't you ready for prom?" Carly gasped, evaluating his attire from the doorway. Still staring at the ceiling, he swung around on the pivoted chair.

"I'm not going Carls."

"What? Why?" she asked, incredulous.

His head snapped upright, narrowed eyes meeting hers with a "really? You're going to ask that?" expression.

"I'll give you three guesses," he mocked, his voice tinged with something derisive and accusatory.

Her sharp focus descended on him like daggers, swirling chocolate brown eyes staring him out. "Don't you dare blame me."

He exhaled, deflated.

"I'm...I'm not...I'm just having a hard time right now."

"Listen Freddie," she sighed, moving in her black satin gown to crouch in front of him, "I know you miss her. I know you do but don't let this ruin our last night as friends in the same city. Please."

"Who was I kidding Carly?" he laughed, adjusting himself upright in the chair "Sam Puckett and me? Really? Like that was ever gonna end happily."

She breathed in, pouting full red lips.

"It still could," she offered, "Maybe if you go to her tonight. She said she might come..."

"And do what? Take it back? Tell her I'll never see you again? What do I do to make this better?"

She considered his response with a heavy heart, her eyes closed. "You offer her whatever will work."

"But you..."

"I'm Sam's best friend," she smiled meekly; "We'll work it out. We always do. But she's your girlfriend. And that means more than this."

She gestured between them, an empty silence hanging in the air.

"This," he repeated, "This means a lot to me too. You mean a lot to me."

The corners of her lips twitched upward, and she flashed him a brief smile. "And you mean a lot to me. But I want to see how you and Sam pan out ya know? I want to see you happy."

"So you want me to go tonight and...?"

"Offer her whatever she wants. You know Sam. That probably involves a lifetime's supply of pork and fatcakes."

"And what if it involves more than that?"

"As in?"

"What if what she wants is for me to never...to never see you again?"

Carly snorted, waving a dismissive hand. "To be honest Freddie, it's more likely that she'll never want to see _you_ again...sorry. But seriously, me and Sam. We're blood buddies."

"Blood buddies?" He cocked a quizzical eyebrow.

"Don't ask. It was very traumatic and involved me, Sam and a rather large needle."

Another sigh and he studied his hands with a countenance of intrigue. "What's wrong now Freddie?"

"You really think she'll never want to see me again?"

"Oh would you just get ready and go," Carly scolded fixing her dress as she stood, "Go. Or you'll never know."

He moved slowly, pulling himself to his feet and watching as Carly made her way towards his bedroom door. Something inside him, some heavy feeling forced him after her. He walked to where she stood and took her hands, brushing her palm with his thumb. He had to admit she looked stunning. Her hair fell in long brown waves down her shoulders pinned at one side with a white lily, offset with a low-cut black satin gown that hugged every curve he once loved.

"I loved you first," he whispered, "And just in case...just because...you'll always have that...I'll always have that."

His stuttered utterances drew her gaze to his face and she leaned up, her lips brushing his. It was the perfect goodbye, the perfect ending for the saga that was Freddie and Carly. They both knew then that whatever they once had, whatever story they told was over at least in one respect. Both quietly hoped for a new one.

"She said she was going to the park to start the party herself," Carly supplied, "I think that means she's drinking vodka on the slide."

"Think that also means she's likely to punch me?"

"I think you might have a pretty black eye to match that wonderful tuxedo I picked out for you yes," she sniffled, holding back the tears, "See you later maybe?"

"See me later, definitely," he corrected, offering a timid wave as she left. He ignored the pain that ached in his chest, the burst of tears that threatened to fall as his one perfect girl left for prom alone and instead concentrated on the rush of excitement at the thought of meeting his one un-perfect girl in the park. Old Freddie would have chased after what seemed perfect, over what should be, but new Freddie doesn't want predictability and certainly doesn't want a life mapped out for him. Sam brought something out in him that he never thought he could be; passionate. Freddie drew the conclusion that for him love shouldn't make perfect sense, and in this situation, in his now, love just _was_. He loved her; he just needed her to love him.

* * *

He had wandered the dark park for what seemed like hours, whispering her name out into the night hoping to catch a glimpse of some wild eyed, perhaps drunken blonde doing something completely illegal and wonderfully fascinating all at the same time. Instead when he did find her, what he found looked nothing like the Sam he remembered or knew. She sat in a swing, one hand curled around the rope another grasping a clear bottle in her lap, her hair pinned up in a messy bun on top of her head. She wore something he'd imagine to see in a fairytale book; some sort of neon pink corset dress with he imagined as many skirts as there were stars in the sky. Garish green converse and a world worn brown sling bag finished off the quintessential Puckett look but still, something was missing. Her back was turned to him, she was silent and there was air around her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. His feet dragged through the wooden chips of the playground as he shuffled up to the swing beside her. His eyes quickly swept the breadth of her bare shoulders, goose bumps prickling her creamy skin there and the thought struck him that she might be cold. Noiselessly he removed his black jacket and placed the heavy fabric on her back covering her. He then sat down facing the opposite direction, his eyes carefully trained to her side profile.

"You have some balls," she stated plainly, taking a drink from the bottle.

"Well...for now," he joked.

"You can relax," she scoffed, "If I was going to do you any physical bodily harm I would have done it by now."

"Well that's...good to know."

An extended hand offered him the bottle of clear alcohol to which originally he was going to decline but something about the situation, the nervousness that overcame his shaky hands made him accept it and take a generous swig. Wordlessly she took it back, settling it into her lap.

"So, are we ever gonna talk about what happened?"

"I'd much rather ignore that it ever did," she mumbled.

Something twisted in his gut and he wondered if she meant the whole kiss debacle or their entire relationship.

"I'm not...good with girls," Freddie blurted the admission and almost automatically regretted it.

She snorted a laugh, taking another gulp of vodka.

"Not exactly revelation of the century there."

A lengthy silence followed, Freddie embarrassed by his vulnerability. He had never expected to be so nervous around her, almost frightened. It should have been a feeling he was used to around Sam Puckett and why he was feeling the intensity of it now he didn't know. It was overwhelming and instead of watching her, his gaze fell to his hands curled around his knees.

"I just meant," he sighed, trying again, "I was sort of a social retard you know? You know how much of a nerd I am, I'm not exactly Mr Smooth Talker."

"Is there a point to this?" she snapped irritably.

"The point is...is that I'm hardly going to be the kind of guy to have two girls on the go now am I? I'm pretty sure I had my hands full with just you."

"Freddie," she sighed, turning her head for the first time towards him, "What are you getting at?"

"I wasn't cheating on you with Carly. We kissed once."

"I know," she said.

"You...you know?"

"Yeah. I mean I know I accused you but after thinking about it I knew you couldn't be that smart."

"So...why aren't we working things out?"

"Why?" she chortled, "Because you still kissed another girl, my best friend. Socially retarded you may be Benson but you're just like every other guy out there."

"What?" he barked, irrationally annoyed, "Human?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, turning her head back towards the expansive empty park in front of her, "And I have a low tolerance for bullshit."

"So what, every guy for the rest of your life doesn't stand a chance?"

"Yup."

"So this new found oath of singledom means you're going to stay completely alone until some fairy tale, prince guy sweeps you off your feet?"

"It's not new!" she cried, her voice shrill, "I had always told myself guys, hell even people in general can't be trusted. Guys are all trash, and yeah that makes them human but there are some, not many but some, who don't want to fuck me over and trample all over me. There is someone out there who if it meant feeding me bacon fat for the rest of my life would do that because he thinks that I'm_ that_ awesome. There is someone that would wait forever to kiss me and when he did it would be like the most amazing thing ever, like fatcakes dipped in pizza toppings. There's a guy that would put up with my "colourful"," she paused to make air quotes, "behaviour. And there is a guy that when I show up wet, cold and hungry at their door would put me in dry clothes and feed me. And if all that makes the guy that would be willing to do that stuff a fairy tale prince dude that isn't likely to exist then yeah, I'll wait for him, even if he is in my head."

The suggestion hung between them, neither knowing what to do with it. What she had described, what she had inferred, was that at one time she considered him to be _that guy_. She stared at him now, loose curls bellowing in the wind, eyes wild with emotion and bewilderment but no tears. Unlike last time she held her emotions well, hard to decipher he found himself staring all the more.

"But that guy," she whispered, "That guy wouldn't kiss my best friend."

Scoffing, his head rolled heavy on his shoulders bowing down towards his lap.

"You're not perfect either you know," he accused quietly.

"I never said I was. But at least I didn't betray you...you were right about one thing though. When it's good, we're great. But when we're bad...when we're bad it's _horrible_."

The swing creaked, her feet kicking off the ground as she pushed gently back and forth.

"We're done aren't we?" he croaked out, loosening the knot in his silk black tie.

"Yeah," she confirmed, still staring ahead, "Yeah we are."

Examining her from the side he was overwhelmed by the urge to touch her one last time. Her skin pale in the night looked achingly soft to feel, her lips puckered just enough to kiss. Instead Freddie settled for her hand. He reached out and curled his fingers over hers on the swing rope, bringing it down between them and letting them hang there. They stayed like that until dawn, still sitting staring out into opposite directions their hands joined in the middle.

* * *

Freddie Benson, now six years older and considerably wiser, walked through Sak's on Fifth Avenue expertly juggling his many bags of Christmas gifts with both hands. He loved the hum of New York in the winter and how it seemed to pulsate with people; some new, some who had been there for perhaps longer than they cared to remember. He supposed that's what attracted him to the East coast in the first place and particularly to New York. It was large, ridiculously so and thrumming with people from all walks of life. He never saw the same thing twice and in an odd way it was sort of comforting knowing that his world as he knew it could change in an instant. Seattle was and always would be his home but he had grown too comfortable there, too safe in his surroundings and it held him back.

It was vibrant here and he grew, changed and adapted to his new environment. At first the loneliness, the sheer anonymity of the city terrified him and there was more than one instance where his only desire was to return to what he deemed comfortable. But nostalgia he decided was only a vice, one that needed to be ignored in order to conquer. A ring from his pocket broke his reverie and he fumbled for the cell phone, still powering ahead. His head bowed to the floor as he searched out his mobile he made a fatal rookie mistake and forgot to forge a seen route ahead. He collided roughly with something, or rather someone, the impact shoving the pair backwards.

"Oi watch it!" the female voice chastised.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't look-"

He stopped suddenly, mouth agape when his eyes settled on what was perhaps the biggest surprise and turnabout to ever occur in his new, New York life. Standing in front of him was none other than Sam Puckett; "the one who got away", the perpetual thorn in his side and on reflection his first true love. Long black eyelashes fluttered and he heard her suck in a breath when she too realised who she had both metaphorically and physically bumped into. Phone pressed to her ear, she mumbled an apology to whoever was on the other end and pocketed the device into her purple winter coat.

"Sam," he breathed, "Sam Puckett."

Her mouth curved into a lop-sided grin. "Freddie," she mirrored, licking her wind worn lips, "Freddie Benson."

Forgetting what was perhaps proper behaviour and ignoring any hesitations screaming to him, he dropped his bags and opened his arms to her. Much to his surprise she jumped into his waiting embrace with a chuckle, and he could feel a mixture of both her cheek and woolly cream hat rub against the stubble of his chin. The sensation took hold and wouldn't let go, so he leaned into it inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla and bacon. It was over much too soon leaving him dazed and dizzy from both the smell and feel of her in his arms.

"You look..." he dragged off searching for the words. Truthfully, she looked stunning and not entirely dissimilar to the Sam he remembered. Her still lengthy hair hung in large waves from beneath her cream hat, her eyes were still as big and blue as he could recall them to be and she wore a fitted purple winter coat and skinny blue jeans tucked into biker boots. A miss match of elegance and college student, this was exactly who he knew and he suddenly found comfort looking for the familiar once again.

"You look great," he finished eventually.

"You too," she replied politely, and not entirely how he would have once expected her to react to a compliment from him in particular. He supposed perhaps not everything had stayed the same in six years.

"So what you doing in New York?" he asked.

"I'm in NYU," she divulged, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear, "I know six years late, but better late than never right?"

"Last I heard you were travelling the world."

"Yeah, saw it," she laughed, "Turns out nothing really compares to home. How about you? What you doing here?"

"Oh I went to NYU too," he informed her, gesturing to the imaginary university building before becoming slightly embarrassed by his own irrational nerves. "Yeah I was Pre-med there."

"No kidding! You're not a doctor are you Benson?" she teased.

"No I'm not," he confirmed, chortling, "I jacked it all in. I'm a photographer now for the New York Times and I own my own little gallery uptown."

She gasped over-dramatically. "I bet Marissa wasn't happy about that."

"You'd be surprised what 3000 miles of distance does for a guy in helping him stand up to his mother," he joked. He cursed his damn hands and their repetitive gestures. An internal monologue of "be cool man" began and he was pretty sure that if Sam didn't think he was a freak already she would now.

"So you still in contact with Carls?" he asked, wincing at the subject he chose to bring up.

"Yeah dude she's still my best friend. I lived with the chick in Boston for a year nearly. She's a teacher, can you believe it? I don't know how she does it, I still can't stand kids."

She breezed past it with such ease he wondered if she had forgotten any past issues the threesome once had. He had this overwhelming urge to question her on it, but swallowed this down and far away.

"Yeah I know, me and Carly email and talk constantly. She's a great girl."

Forcing a smile, she nodded and he felt like he was suffering from a serious case of verbal incontinence with the way she now glanced sideways and looked like all she wanted to do was run away from the still socially retarded man-child in front of her.

"So, are you busy right about now? Do you have time for coffee?" he braved the request, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Uh..."

"Unless you have to meet someone, it's completely fine...do you have to meet someone?"

Gazes locked and a soft smile spread across her face. "No. No. I have no one to meet. What about you? You free?"

He wanted to laugh at their not so subtle subtleties but instead returned her now toothy grin with one of his own.

"Completely free."

They stayed like that in that moment for a quiet ten seconds smiling back at one another. He felt it then; his heart leaping into his throat, his stomach diving and the noise of a busy New York shopping mall echoing in his ears. Something had always been missing in his life, he figured it was some part of the old Freddie he had left behind in Seattle but that feeling was eclipsed by something entirely unfamiliar and not unwanted. The hole for ten seconds wasn't empty and instead was replaced with something that soared in his gut, something that made him feel completely and irrevocably _found_.

"So coffee?" he sought confirmation while bending to gather his bags. She followed suit, gathering up half of his belongings. He reached out for the bags she had so graciously offered to carry but she shook her head declining his offer and instead balanced them out in her free arms. "You kidding me? I'm not letting a lady carry anything. That's the man's job."

"I don't see any men here," she jested, her tongue poking out, "Besides...you kind of have to meet the man half way."

Six years on and Sam finally accepted his dated apology with a delicate grace and understanding that only a true lady would have acquired. Hard to comprehend, but Freddie's wild child had finally grown up and blossomed into something even more wonderful and completely unique. He was breathless at the idea.

"Right c'mon, there's a Starbucks across the way."

"Eugh no," she blanched, her nose wrinkling, "I'm sort of in the mood for a smoothie."

"Me too. I know a great place," he laughed.

He gently guided her from the building, leading her out into the hustle and bustle of the city streets. Yes, New York was a daily and much loved surprise and Freddie marvelled at how old and new collided when the blonde at his side hooked into one of his arms as they made their way to a Groovy Smoothie. Perhaps nostalgia wasn't an entirely bad thing after all.

* * *

_**A big thanks to all you guys that stuck with this one. Your reviews throughout the story just made me so so happpy and I think I'll miss updating this one. And a special thanks to Emma. She has helped tremendously with the output of this chapter, I honestly didn't even think I'd ever get it done and probably wouldn't have without her. **_


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